Coffee Shop
by pineapple desu
Summary: AU: There's a coffee shop everyone loves.  Except not really because everyone goes to Starbucks.  But you get the point, right?
1. Chapter 1

SO UH HI GUYS. I've been busy with some things (school, writing with Ruby...), so I haven't updated HTWAT. Sorry. I haven't given up on it, though. SO. I made this! It's going to be a series of one-shots, ranging from short to long, about life at HETALIA COFFEE SHOP. It's probably been done before, but, yeah. People in Hetalia either work at this coffee shop or they're customers, as you can probably guess. Updates for this will also be irregular. I'm just going to do this when I get bored. The genre of each might change, too, for future reference, though I'm pretty sure it will be mainly humor and a bit of romance.

* * *

Mondays were slow (mostly because Starbucks and Dunkin Donuts and whatever stole the majority of their would-be customers). They were the snails of the week; no one ever wanted to do anything on Mondays. Mondays were unexciting, boring. Well, mostly. There were a few bright sides to it. For one, everyone could goof off at the coffee shop until customers came in. They sometimes built forts behind the counter and popped up whenever someone came in, running a hand through their hair and fixing the green apron that was their only uniform. It was hilarious when someone actually got stuck in the fort, which had happened roughly a dozen times.

And, Alfred thought, a smile coming to his face as he turned to look at someone, there was always Arthur. You see, he and Arthur had a rather complicated relationship. Sometimes they loved each other; sometimes they hated each other. It was kind of confusing, especially since he had to remember what they were before walking inside because if they had had a fight the previous day, then Arthur would throw coffee at him at some point of the day if he acted like they were still on good terms.

Arthur had ruined more than five shirts and pairs of pants that way.

His smile abruptly became upside-down and he hastily turned away in time for Arthur to look at him. He resisted the urge to run very far away. He tensed in anticipation for Arthur to pounce on him. Instead of Arthur, it was Gilbert who grabbed his shoulder. "Hey, Al," the albino greeted. "Mind helping me in the back? Feliciano made a pasta fort, and it's blocking my beer."

"Haven't you tried kicking it down?" Alfred asked incredulously. Gilbert loved his beer and would do almost anything for it, even make his favorite Italian cry.

Gilbert shrugged helplessly. "I tried that. He cried. And then rebuilt that section before I could get to the beer. And then he was all, 'GILBERT, DON'T KICK DOWN MY PASTA FORT OR THERE WILL BE DIRE CONSEQUENCES!' So I was all, 'Hey, Feli, chill,' but he did not chill because he kept crying, and then West had to come in and comfort him! AND THEY ARE STILL BLOCKING MY BEER."

Alfred stared at him. "What makes you think I'd be any help? Ask Antonio or Lovino. They could just ask, and then Feliciano would be like, 'Oh, sure,' and let them get the beer for you, whereas I'd have to negotiate with him. I might have to give up hamburgers for a day again for you. You don't want a relapse of that."

Gilbert opened his mouth to reply, but closed it. This occurred several times before he finally jerked his head in a nod. "Good point." He released Alfred's shoulder and turned away. "Now, where the fuck are Toni and Lovino?"

Arthur deigned to include himself into their conversation, sounding as condescending as condescending could probably sound. "They're at a table right in front of you, twat."

"... Oh, right. Haha." Gilbert laughed awkwardly and got onto the counter, sliding to the other direction and leaping off. "Thanks, Eyebrows." He hurried over to the brown-haired pair.

Alfred quirked a smile at his remaining companion. "You didn't have to be so mean."

Arthur scoffed. "That wasn't mean. It was simply me pointing out the obvious." The corners of his lips lifted, and he looked away. "You do realize what this means, right?" When Alfred remained mute, he shook his head. "We have to make our own fort to rival Feliciano's. It will be bigger and more fortified. We will put it in the middle of the room, successfully blocking Feliciano's fort and Gilbert's beer simultaneously." He looked back at the taller man, his smile never leaving. "What do you say?"

The American had to grin. "I've gotta say that this is one of the best ideas you've ever had. What should we make it out of? Coffee containers? Union Jacks? Hamburgers?" He sounded very enthusiastic when he reached the last suggestion. "Oh, maybe we could use your and Nikolai's books. You've got a lot of them here. I dunno why, though; from the amount of novels you've got back there, a few of us think that you guys practically live here. I mean, you know Herakles? The Greek? He hypothesizes that you and Nikolai sneak in here in the middle of the night and just read your books because you've got so many that you don't have any more space in your houses."

Arthur stared at him. "That," he said carefully, "is the most ridiculous piece of shite I have ever had the misfortune of hearing."

"Hey, don't shoot the messenger." Alfred shrugged. "I'm not one of the people that say it. You know. Just for your information. I mean, of course it's ridiculous. Who would do that? Ha ha ha. Herakles has the funniest theories." He mentally winced at how stupid he sounded. Ugh! Arthur already thought he was an idiot; he just had to sound like one, too!

Arthur looked down at the floor, and then off to the side. "You aren't the best of conversationalists." His mouth was quirked, and there was a hint of humor in his voice. Perhaps more than a hint. Maybe it was more like a tablespoon or half of a cup. He sounded like he was both amused and exasperated. The bother sort of canceled out the entertainment, but that technicality was worth ignoring.

Alfred's scratched the back of his neck, smiling awkwardly. "You aren't the first to tell me that."

"I should hope not," the Briton drawled, glancing back at him. "I'd hate for you to have lived your whole life thinking that you were the best person to talk to in the entire world. It's okay, though. We can't all be as great at conversation as I. Anyway, we should probably make that fort now, while there aren't any customers in sight. We'll use whatever we can get our hands on..." A smirk graced his face, and his voice lowered. "That includes Feliciano's pasta."

Alfred's answering beam could light up the room, and, in a way, it did. "I always knew you were my favorite Brit for a reason."

"I'm the only Englishman you know."

"Yeah, but still."


	2. Chapter 2

I'm so sorry, Iceland. What have I done to you?

* * *

Tuesdays were kind of good. People actually came in every hour or so. Somehow they made enough money to employ a lot of people, but no one ever really knew how. Anyway, as with every day, this coffee shop had something going on that was completely unrelated to anything like making coffee, serving coffee, or customers.

"Girl, you're amazing, just the way you are!"

Nikolai looked up from his book with raised eyebrows. "... Johan? Why are you singing Bruno Mars songs, and who are you even singing to?"

His brother shrugged, putting down his Starbucks coffee (yes, he was a traitor). "I'm not singing to anyone. I'm just bored. I mean, everyone's off making forts out of stupid things, and no one has come in for the past ten minutes, so I feel it is perfectly alright to be given creative license." He flipped his pale hair. "And come on, I'm more attractive than he'll ever be."

"Right... Just keep thinking that..." Nikolai flipped the page disinterestedly.

Johan sniffed. "What, do I need to strike a pose and sparkle for you?"

The Norwegian ignored him.

Johan turned and shouted, "Rachelle, get the bloody fan! I need wind in my hair!"

"GET IT YOURSELF," yelled back Rachelle, who was in the middle of making a tower out of playing cards. The force of her voice made it fall, and she pounded her fist on the table. "FINE! GOD! DO YOU NEED THE GLITTER, TOO?"

Johan mentally congratulated God. "That would be nice, thank you."

Nikolai put his book onto the table in front of him and just gazed at his sibling in an unamused way. "And you swear you're not gay."

"You're just jealous you can never look this good." Johan motioned to himself. "More likely, you're just mad because Mathias leaves me alone, and he always bugs you. If he weren't our cousin, I would say he has a total boner for you."

Nikolai pinched the bridge of his nose. "Johan. Shut up."

Rachelle chose that moment to show up with the fan they kept for the purpose of blowing Johan's hair romantically and the glitter Elizaveta had given to them for Johan. She set it on the counter and plugged it in; she directed it to him, and turned it on low, just the way he liked it. She opened the glitter bottle and sprinkled it in front of the fan, sending it over to him.

In a matter of seconds, he was glitter central.

He opened his mouth slightly, closing his eyes, and ran a hand through his snowy hair, making for quite a good pose. The glitter provided sparkles, and Nikolai found himself staring, half in disbelief and half in a sort of bemused I-can't-stop-staring sort of feeling. Rachelle grinned widely, blushing prettily. It was obvious she was restraining herself from squealing. Sometimes, no one knew what went on in her head, and it was better that way.

Matthew happened to walk in at that point. He froze and gazed at the beauty that was Johan, who was turned halfway to him. "Uh... why does Johan look like he just stepped out of a Twilight photo shoot?"

Johan turned very slowly to face Matthew completely, and Rachelle turned off the fan, making a soft 'ooh' sound. "What," Johan demanded lowly, "did you just say?"

Matthew threw his hands up in the air. "I just want some coffee!"

"I'll 'just want some coffee' your―"

Nikolai calmly smacked down Johan's fist. "Sure, Matthew." He looked pointedly at Rachelle.

She huffed, but went and poured the coffee anyway, dropping in a cube of sugar. She stirred it with a spoon to help it dissolve faster before abruptly turning to look at the Canadian. "How do I know you're not a zombie or a Twifan? Oh, my god, Mattie! Have we lost you to the dark side? No! Come back, Mattie! Come back! Once you go Twihard, YOU NEVER GO BACK!"

The three men just looked at her.

Matthew walked over to get his coffee. "Um. I'm not a Twihard. It was just... He's sort of glittery right now..."

Johan mumbled something under his breath that sounded a lot like "ducking glass mole." He glared at Matthew, sinking into the chair beside Nikolai's, and crossed his arms. "I knew I should have gone to Broadway."

Nikolai rolled his eyes. "Shut up."

"YOU CANNOT SILENCE ME."

Nikolai shifted, and pulled a roll of duct tape out of his pocket. "You want to bet?"

Johan scooted his chair a few centimeters away.

Rachelle laughed, twirling a lock of her hair. "Have a nice day, Matthew. Good luck on your test today!"

A flush rose to the customer's cheeks, and he smiled hesitantly. "Thanks, Rach." He walked out, holding his cup of delicious goodness, while the remaining two stared at the brunet.

She rolled her eyes. "He told us about the test yesterday, remember? Al was at the counter when Matthew came in, so they talked a bit, and it went on to the subject of Matthew's schooling. You don't need to look at me like I'm some kind of stalker. I mean, Johan, you should be polishing my shoes or something right now. I got you your fan AND your glitter."

Johan nodded. "That is true," he conceded. "You just want to see me polish your shoes because you think it would be―"

"Don't finish that sentence," Nikolai interrupted.

"Fine, fine."

Rachelle looked at them flatly. "There are a number of things I'd like to say to you, but nothing can adequately describe my feelings right at this moment."

Johan smirked. "Is it all because of me? You're such a sweetheart."

"Shut up."

The Icelandic man heaved a sigh. "Rachelle, I have to tell you something. Our relationship was great while it lasted, but it's just not working out. It's not me, it's you. I'm sorry you can't handle this." He motioned to himself. "It's okay, though. We can still be friends, and you can still throw glitter into the wind to make me sparkle, and I will still make your coffee the way you like it and not throw pasta in there to make you think Feliciano messed with it when really, he thinks you're a doll."

Rachelle's palm met her face. "Please, stop talking like that."

"Like what? Do you hate the real me? I knew it. The world just doesn't understand my inner pain, so I must mask it with the gayest language I know!" He looked dramatically out of a window from across the room, and his highly dramatic aura disappeared when he noticed something. "IS THAT DUDE STEALING MY BIKE? FUCK!" He jumped out of his seat and ran out of the shop, screaming profanities.

Nikolai picked his previously abandoned book up and casually turned the page while Rachelle watched Johan kick the assumed thief in a highly private area.

Yep. Tuesdays were pretty good.


End file.
